"He'll sit there and go, Dipsy... Po... Dipsy... Po. I honestly don't think he knows colors. Just Teletubbies."


Cate at Newspaper on Annie's Birthday

Wow. I'm sure you missed my Cate-at-Newspaper entry last Wednesday, so here is one that will hopefully be quite long to make up for it.

I am very upset with these arseheads who pieced together this issue of the newspaper. My article inexplicably stops mid-sentence and I am none too thrilled about this fact. I suppose our readers will just have to take this as a "To Be Continued," not that we're getting another issue out before I graduate. The supervisor is not taking my complaints very seriously. Jeebus.

Now we are discussing fudging letters to the advice column, because our ones so far have been things like "my parents are getting Divorced what do i do!" written by a boy in our class whose parents will never get divorced because they are probably bonded by sheer insanity. Betty has started to refer to said boy's parents on a first-name basis, which was hysterical.

Annie, Betty's sister, is walking around in her mother's teal bathroom, which has been the highlight of my day thus far. Happy birthday, Annie!

Anyway. I hope that was interesting enough to feed your insatiable urge for Cate-in-Newspaper entries that I could not feed last week.


Amusing Referrals, Courtesy of Site Meter

-a Yahoo search for: Patricia Clarkson naked. I bet that person was very disappointed. Sorry about that. Yahoo came up with my entries about her mysterious seat disappearance and the Naked Boob Halftime Show, by the way. I'm amused, and, speaking of the much-revered Ms. Clarkson, here is a Hilarious Interview with her. She swears a lot and she likes writers. I have determined that she is my long-lost mother. It would account for my closet addiction to the scrolling things at the bottom of the CNN screen.

-Someone was referred from blogrolling.com; I suppose they were enamored of the highly witty title. I hope it sucked you in, witty title lover! Now this person will disappear just as quickly as the Yale person. Alas, the title rings true. I am demented.

-Lots of Fametracker referrals. Fametracker loves me, yo. Except sometimes I do not love Fametracker because it doesn't like to load on my stupid computer. Like right now.

I had coffee this morning, can you tell? I refrained from barking at Betty, though, amazingly enough. When I say barking, I really do mean barking like a dog. I kid you not. If you need proof, Betty can comment. She doesn't lie. Most of the time.

Cate Leads a Turmoiled Relationship with her iTunes

I am a crossword puzzle addict. I don't try to be, it just happens. I am Anne Bancroft in Home for the Holidays without the wigs, that is how addicted I am. My mother bought me this book of movie crosswords, and I'm so bad at them, and, yet, it's an addiction. It's like crack, except I'm sure it is very difficult to be bad at doing drugs.

Anyway, I have two of my free iTunes songs left to buy. Does anyone have any recommendations? I suppose, in saying that, I should tell you what I like... Suzanne Vega, Cake, Wilco, P.J. Harvey, Garbage, the Shins, pre-sellout Liz Phair, Badly Drawn Boy, Elliott Smith, Stephin Merritt, Queen, Texas, Her Space Holiday, Jeff Buckley, Gemma Hayes, the Decemberists, Jane's Addiction, Air, the Cranberries, the Flaming Lips, the Pixies, Phantom Planet, Nick Drake, Aimee Mann, Weezer, Mazzy Star, Sam Phillips (the woman, the one who is still alive) Imperial Teen and, as Franny B. so aptly deems it, "Music That Is Not Played on the Radio." I hope that list was sufficient enough that all these people who read this can COMMENT and RECOMMEND (hint, hint). It was just off the top of my head, there's much more.

When I am rich and famous, I am buying my stupid school twenty-five matching copies of Johnny Tremain. I have not even read that book (and can't imagine liking it) and I don't like my school, but we have seven different styles of copies of that frickin' book. It irks me to no extent.


How Cate Made Good On Her Lenten Promise

Walking up the stairs from lunch (why does everything mortifying happen to me after lunch but before afternoon classes begin?), I was beaned in the head with a football that was intended for the hands of Larry-the-Allah-Worshipper, thrown by Pat (another alias for the good of society.) So, of course, I made good on my lenten promise and didn't frighten too many small children my screaming, "YOU BUTTFACE!" Then Pat was frightened and he told Urs-jalon, the crazy multi-subject teacher, that I was "attacking people with my big words." I am not sure on which planet "buttface" is considered a "big word."

And, apparently, I am very necessary as a second-rate hooker in this moronic play. Then I realized that my middle school career has been fueled entirely by absolute crap.


I'm Blue Cheese, Bizotches!

I am blue cheese!
Cheese Test: What type of cheese are you?

Thanks, Angie.

Cate is Depressed, Thus Her Sharing of the Most Morifying Moment of her Life Thus Far

Oliver Beene did get canceled. I am going to find an address where I can write to Wendy Makkena and tell her that I will miss her delightfully sarcastic self and that she is the best nun in the history of cinema and television, even better than Sally Field, and she didn't even have to fly to get that title, just lip-synch! (Sorry if you are reading this, Miss Makkena. I don't actually try to be this demented. It just sort of happens.)

Note: Mariana now will be referred to as B.B. For reasons only the Select Few may know.

The Story Of Hot Boy

And since my first paragraph just didn't give you enough of an idea of how deranged I truly am, here is a story that will prove that accusation beyond a reasonable doubt. In our cafeteria, we are forced to line up by the Blessed Are the Pacemakers mural. And on the mural, there is a very homely boy riding an elephant. So, of course, I immediately start pointing and singing "Hot Boy!" over and over again and shaking my butt, as it is, of course, natural human instinct to do. Then I announced, loudly, that his feet were the hottest part and did some more rump-rattling and pointing and singing. And, of course, as it would naturally happen, my homeroom/social studies/art teacher (oh, shut up. We go to a Catholic school, what do you think happens without government funding?) walks by. It was truly mortifying, much more so than the time I ran down the halls singing, "PAAAAAARAAAAAAAA-MEEEEEEEEEE-CEEEEEEEEEEEEE-UMMMMMMMMMM" in this ridiculous baritone voice whilst the same teacher walked past.

I worry myself.

Entertainment News I Missed Out On Whilst Computerless and Vacationing

  • "Holly Hunter has joined Robin Williams in the cast of The Big White, playing the slightly insane wife of an Alaskan travel agent." Any movie in which Holly Hunter is slightly insane is a good movie, even if it does involve Robin Williams.

  • I think Oliver Beene went on hiatus. Or was canceled. Or something. Thus, I am depressed. What will happen to me without my weekly doses of Wendy Makkena being her delightful sarcastic self?

  • That is about it. I think. As far as I know. More later.

    Quotes from my Vacation, Yo (and one from the day before)

    [We are discussing Hilary Duff's "Come Clean," or whatever the bejesus it's called]
    Franny: And then the guy hugs her, but he doesn't kiss her!
    Me: She probably had her chastity belt on that day.

    Me: Oh, Illinois welcomes us.
    Vati: Isn't that nice, the FIBs say hi!

    Vati: You get to drive. This can be my Union-paid break.
    Mutti: I'll give you a Union-paid break.

    Me: [watching The Untouchables] Patricia Clarkson is vastly underutilzed in this. All she has to do is sit there and look worried and pregnant and tell Kevin Costner to brush her hair.
    Mutti: And deal with those horrid little gray children. (Note: the color on our TV was a bit wacky.)

    Anyway. I am working on buying my seven free iTunes songs. Thank you 7-11 and your magnificent Slurpees. (And for those of you who were alarmed: I did not actually lose my purse and we can take this as a sign of my utter lack of organization.)


    This is my official last entry before I leave. So, bye. *Catherine sobs mercilessly.*

    Bye. I wuv you!! *sniffle.* *immense snort.*


    Cate during newspaper drinking Sprite, amazing, I know. Mariana has joined newspaper and will be stunned at the painstaking dullness, I assure you. Yum. Sprite.

    We have three articles for our next newspaper. Oh, gods. This is friggin' stupid. Jeebus. Mariana is amazed at the nonexistent rate at which we produce issues, along with being bored.

    We learned about Tourette's and schizophrenia in health class today. It was fascinating, yo.

    Oh, jeebus. Whitney Houston is in rehab. I may be in shock. Not really. I'm just worried that my mocking of this will lead to more related Google searches for rehab. (Now they are for new skates, my favorite one so far has been for Sean Connery. Because I just blog about him all the time, you know.)

    Hm. Does anyone else remember the movie Nell? With Jodie Foster having perfect teeth despite being raised out in the woods where there is not likely a toothbrush or orthodontics. And she said all those bizarre, half-English things like, "MA TAY INNA WEEEEN." By which she meant, I believe, I am a tree in the wind. Someone should make a translator that turns normal English speak into that language. I mean, who came up with that language? Honestly.


    Had a very misguided attempt to make it so that Garbage's "When I Grow Up" plays over and over again when you visit the blog, but it didn't work out.

    My social studies/homeroom/art teacher is possibly a lunatic. No, not possibly, absolutely. She informed me that watertowers are composed mainly of straight lines, then when I brought her one with straight lines, she told me they were supposed to be curved. Then, of course, Adam, alias The Hobo from Junction City (trademarked by Franny B., because she'll kill me if I don't cite her), was making hilarious faces behind her back so I started laughing and it was all just generally mortifying.

    Denise Richards and Charlie Sheen had their baby and named it Sam. And it's a girl. I hope this is short for Samantha and they're just calling her Sam. I mean, it's not Audio Science or Reignbeau or anything, but... honestly. If you use the nickname enough, it's pretty much considered their full name, so just give the kid a full name. Really. Unless you have relatives like mine who deem your nickname far too short and insist on calling you by your first and middle name (and mispronouncing either), a full name will get you through life just fine.

    Unless your full name is Reignbeau.

    Finally finished the opus that is Cate's Angry Letter to Mr. Jack Valenti. It's not so angry, really. Well, actually, it is, but in a very civilized manner. I know, I know, a relative impossibility there, but I was actually somewhat polite and I never insulted Jack Valenti the way I usually do. I was quite contained, except for the bits where I subtly dissed big-budget films.

    Sorry about that. Had to underline my thesis statement, and I did with what is quite possibly the most crooked line ever drawn. Oh, jeebus.

    I need to trim my toenails desperately but for some reason all our clippers have disappeared. That was incredibly mundane of me to share, I know, but you should see my toenails. They get so long when I wear socks on a regular basis, which is not often because I'll stop wearing socks outside of school by the time it's officially spring. I hate socks. Unless, of course, they are toe socks.

    I am sorry to inform you that I will be leaving Thursday afternoon to drive to Florida with the Nazi and the Fake Sick and will likely be gone until the next Sunday. And since we are cut off from all civilization down there, I will not be able to update. I know exactly how distraught you are, which is to say, not very.

    I actually ended up with perfect timing for once last night and only watched th one part of The Green Mile that I like. Except the censorship fart-barons made the whole reason I like that part into what I think was, "pig-filler." Ooh. Diss. And I was also watching it on the telly in my room, where everyone looks yellowish and gray hair becomes green. It was bizarre.


    Oh, bumbuses. I am not going to be home alone like I assumed because the Fake Sick didn't do his homework after he specifically told me he didn't have any. Argh. My plan to sit around and do nothing has been squandered, yo.

    Yes, Mariana, I am speaking in vocabulary-packet language tonight.

    Oh, gods. All I am going to say is that middle school plays are the spawn of Hitler, the only person capable of devising such biased torture. I will say nothing else, except: Yo, Angie. Let's start up that theater company. Except instead of making Remains of the Day with Irish-Catholic ghetto Miss Kenton, let's make Howard's End so that Mariana can have a nice part, too. I'll be Margaret Schlegel and she'll be Helen and you can beautifully direct us and we can both be like Meryl Streep.

    Vati: So what are you doing about this, Cate?
    Me: I made tea.
    Vati: And?
    Me: It's raspberry tea.

    Hm. Bored. Vati Nazi is still being bipolar. Thankfully, he is going to be gone for long periods of time tonight, so I will watch The Green Mile, a movie I do not actually like as much as I should considering four of my favorite actors are in it-- Patricia Clarkson, Bonnie Hunt, Sam Rockwell, Michael Clarke Duncan--, and maybe flip to Cracking Up every once in a while.

    The really sad part, my grand total of TV hours for last week: one hour, give or take a few minutes of watching the TV Guide channel. (And, no, watching movies doesn't count because that's such a monstrous number that I couldn't even get close guessing.)

    My approximate grand total for tonight: three hours. For a movie I don't even like all that much. Maybe I'll just check every half-hour or so to see if Patricia Clarkson's big scene is coming up. Maybe I just want to revisit some good times, wasting three hours of my life, since this is, in fact, the movie that compelled Hallie to shout such comedic gems as "FOUR TIMES IN ONE NIGHT!!" and "Oh my gosh, I keep touching my nose, it's like I'm a cocaine addict!"

    And my related Google searches just became all about rehabilitation. Again.


    Since my oh-so-unceremonious pimping on Fametracker, not much has happened, aside from people saying Nice Things about my blog.

    The Nazi has become a bit manic-depressive as of late. I still cannot believe my mutti abandoned me so suddenly. (Actually, I was just under-informed. I thought she was leaving tomorrow morning. Nobody tells me anything in these here parts.)

    Oh, dear. Princess Di is referring to Popcap.com's Zuma as "The Zumba" as it keeps distracting Betty from our scintillating chat room conversations.

    I had a grammatically incorrect fortune cookie today with many random commas. Friggin' China Buffet, yo.

    Random Things Cate Has To Say

    1. Finally saw Miracle with Betty today. We had quite a few laughs, what with being surrounded by Mad Clappers (the individuals who clapped every time the U.S. scored), my new boyfriend Patrick O'Brian-Demsey, the utter cool talentedness of Patricia Clarkson, and the Unfortunate Fashion Decisions of the 80s. Princess Di was supposed to come along but had to go to a two-and-a-half hour church service, hence the tagboard dementia.

    2. Parental abandonment, thanks to my mutti, who has left me with the crab-butt Nazi, alias my dad, and the Fake Sick for a week. And she's telling me not to be so bitter and sarcastic about it because I'm giving the Nazi a complex. Everyone in my house needs to shut up. Including myself.


    Television Without Pity's Sopranos recap is up. It's friggin' hilarious, so go read it, because the recapper mentions Hackers, which I somehow get sucked into for no good reason at all whenever it is on cable, at least three times.

    I refuse to see The Prince and Me not only because it looks horrible but also because the title is grammatically incorrect, an insult to moviegoers everywhere.

    Dead Again is officially my favorite movie with scissors as a plot device. Well, actually, the only movie I've seen with scissors used as a plot device, but the point is, it's good. And has Emma Thompson in not only one role, but two.

    I'm off to work on my screenplay. Saturdays are my work days, yo.

    Oh, found something to post: Play Mash is addictive. Apparently, I will be a screenwriter, live with my boyfriend Peter Saarsgard and our four kids in a house in London, where we will drive around in a champagne-colored hybrid car. Except now I did it again and I am a director married to Hugh Grant, living in London in an apartment with our four kids, where we will drive our silver Saturn Vue. Although I suppose I could just put in the same thing in every slot and end up being a single screenwriter living in an apartment in Manhattan's West Village where I drive absolutely nothing, as that is where I seem to be headed. Oh, jeebus.

    Amazingly enough, the Fake Sick managed not to ruin my weekend, so my madre and I have been enjoying shopping (well, except not the swimsuit shopping part... long, arduous story, that one), watching School of Rock with the fabulously hilarious Joan Cusack and my boyfriend Kevin Clark. Not my real boyfriend. I wish.

    So, anyway, my dad is going out to dinner with Trista-the-Bachelorette tonight. The fact that I am telling you this is probably a clue that I do not have very much to say.

    Except that Dead Again is on TV in 48 minutes, yay!


    Cate Explains Saliva Forks Because Betty Demands It

    In our cafeteria, we have actual forks, as opposed to the plastic forks that we use to have. Actual forks that are washed every day but still scare us due to the possible traces of saliva. Hence, saliva forks.

    Betty and I are pretending that this feather Franny found in the science room (with some "tapes", she doesn't get the joke) is a naughty feather. We are having quite a bit of fun we would not typically be having in computer glass. BETTY STOP TOUCHING ME WITH IT! Okay.

    We are having a "town meeting" in computer whilst Betty is fingering the naughty feather. I should go. Bye all.


    Oh, I am incredibly un-depressed now. I had such an eventful day and Betty has passed her giggly end-of-the-day high on to me, apparently.

    Father, um, Harry (ha, ha, ha... those of you who know him will get the joke) said "bosom" in liturgy this morning. Except he said it "BOO-som," and of course, Mariana was sitting next to me and we were trying so hard not to lose it.

    Then we had a sub in band who was a little absurd. He noted that our piece Cedar Valley March was, "kind of a march." (I also sit next to Mari in band, so note more effusive giggles.)

    So I'm un-depressed, thanks to the stupidity of others.

    My brother is the biggest arse in the world. My parents (and he) like to forget that he is grounded and that I am not (because I am the Good Daughter and, therefore, I do my homework) and somehow he has been getting to use the computer a lot lately and hitting me over the head with a pajama shirt or something equally smelly when I call our mother to ask her to tell him to get off the friggin' computer. My mom says she lets him have the computer (not for hours on end like she thinks) because he doesn't get to do much with friends. Okay, the last time I was grounded, I didn't get to do anything but watch TV and read books. No friends, no computer, no phone for all of my Christmas break. I never, ever get a friggin' break from being grounded, and it has nothing to do with how many friends I have. It's just because I can friggin' handle it. This would explain why my chore list says: Feed the dog. Empty/load the dishwasher. Make your bed. Let the dog inside and outside. Clean up the coffee table. And the Fake Sick's says: Make your bed, and he actually gets away with not making it.

    Yeah, I know, there are starving kids who would be glad to have a family like mine and whatnot, but I have writer's block, and, quite frankly, this is the only life I can be living right now and I don't really care to be a starving kid and I don't want to be part of this family. I mean, yes, we look quite nice and suburban from the outside, but isn't that always the case with suburban families?

    I was going to start whining about how my iPod Mini is not in stock, but you've already deemed be a complete bizotch and a spoiled little brat (although I saved up all the money myself), so I'm just going to let this entry be and hope I'm happier when I arrive home from school, alias the Pit.


    Hello all. It's Cate at Home. And you are very likely not alarmed and wish I would stop as quickly as possible. I nearly forgot to note that I am in one of my Miss Kenton moods, which would account for the chatty British housekeeperishness of this entry.

    Mister Stevens, tell me, is that not the wrong Chinaman? Because I believe it is, Mr. Stevens.

    I'm trying very hard to stop, to no avail. I am wondering, is Television Without Pity's Sopranos recap up? I am rather shocked to find that it is not. So I'm off to find the right Chinaman.

    (Betty is going to say to herself, "but why?" right now, so I feel compelled to add: But why, indeed.)

    Hello, all. It's Cate During Newspaper. Again, you all better be alarmed.

    I don't have anything to say. Jeebus, this is good Sprite. Thank the gods for teacher's lounge vending machines.

    I just wrote an unbiased article about the Academy Awards. Another thing to be alarmed about. I think I have been shot with a tranquilizer.

    Betty wants me to tell you all about deaf people who do not know how to multitask, alias our fellow editors. Oh, our fellow Overacting, Hearing-Impaired Dead Bunny Obsessors at the newspaper, we love to hate them so.

    Betty wants to talk. Disregard anything she says.

    Betty here. Betty is in th hizouse cuz those bizaches hate my kid yo. hee that was just an inside joke of Cate's. Yes, well anyway, Overacting Dead Bunny Obsessor has a hanger up her crotch and has kept giving me evil looks all day. Cate just informed me that I am ruining her blog so therefore Betty (in the hizouse) is departing.

    Sorry about that. It's just that those Pacific Palisades bizotches hate her kid, yo.


    Rum and Monkey kicks arse.

    My Mormon name is MeleKatherine Traudie Treasure Cocaine. Being born in Salt Lake City, Mormonism is near and dear to my heart. And I thank the gods my parents aren't Mormons.

    See what I mean? I'm not going to tell you my insulting name, because, well, you'll insult me. But this site kicks arse. So go there.

    Ooh. I heart Site Meter. My mouth foams at the thought of Site Meter the same way Di's mouth does at the thought of the Tenant's Association. (Don't ask. You don't even want to know.) Apparently someone with the homepage of "yale.edu" visits here. And, now knowing that I am immoderately insane, this person will probably never visit again. Hi, Yale person.

    Oh gods. I worry myself, really, I do.

    Happy boshday, Mariana!

    We had a very large discussion about The Facts of Life at lunch today and ended up laughing immoderately. After we finally remembered that the fat one who liked to rollerskate was Natalie, we couldn't remember Mrs. Garrett's last name. (Silent thank you to the IMDb.) It was sheer insanity, largely because I kept shouting, unhelpfully, "THE FAT ONE WHO ROLLERSKATES!! WHAT IS HER FRIGGIN' NAME??!?!?" at the top of my lungs.

    I'm off to work on the screenplay.

    Just finished editing my Angry Letter to Jack Valenti, alias my persuasive essay on the screener ban. I really think I should sent this to him with a Post-It note attached that says, "Read this, but add the sentence, 'so shut the frick up, Mr. Jack Valenti' to the end."

    I wrote a scene I am *gasp* proud of in les screenplay last night. Oh, it's so good. I'm so happy with it I could spit.

    Betty has the hiccups. I think I might kill her.


    Betty is back!! And although we will all vehemently deny it, we really did miss you.

    Mariana: Oh my gosh, you know how Barbie's pinkie sticks out for no reason at all?
    Me: Yes, but I think now that she's single, she has normal person pinkies.

    Mariana: ...you know, homonyms and analogies and homilies.
    Me: Homilies?
    Mariana: That should be a grammatical term for something that goes on way too long. That way we can say, "Betty, stop with the homilies!"
    Me: Or, "Betty, we've already heard this homily four times."

    Oh, no, my day just went entirely to pot. Spalding Gray is dead! I am so sad for Mr. Gray and his sad wife, Kathleen Russo. And, possibly even worse, Harvey Keitel is going to father another baby. He apparently married this unborn baby's mother three weeks after meeting her. I hope they don't get divorced again, because I think Harvey Keitel's ex-wife, Lorraine Bracco, has been through enough custody battles to last forever. I don't think his wife ever really heard about this. (Although Lorraine Bracco will forever be cool in my book for flipping Mr. Keitel off in court.)


    I just spent at least two hours serving butter, washing syrup holder things, and smelling sausage of questionable fiber content. Pardon me if I sound a bit angry. Except I got to do all these things with Angie, and that made it so much better, because we had conversations like:

    Angie: So, are you controlling people's butter intake?
    Me: I suppose.
    Angie: Yeah, I'm controlling their, um, fork intake.
    Me: Fork intake?

    According to emode.com, my celebrity soulmate is... someone Indie. That's what it says. No one specific. Come on, I could say that, I didn't need a quiz. Jeebus.


    Okay, all. I'm addicted to my iTunes. The celebrity playlists crack me up. Who in their right mind would add anything on Barry Manilow's Celebrity Playlist to their iTunes? Jeebus.

    Okay, since iTunes will not let me load my mix CDs for whatever reason, I have loaded every CD of my collection into my library in approximately five hours. Twenty-six CDs in five hours. Wow.

    Princess Di and I are discussing my mother's inability to have friends who are actually sane, and funny quotes on auditorium walls. Please do not be alarmed.

    Okay. iTunes is all downloaded and installed and you're all probably wishing someone would have told me how addictive it is before I finished downloading it, because it is officially an Obsession. Oh my gods is this fun. And it will be so marvelous when I get my iPod. Oh, man. I am so screwed. Eventually, all the space on my computer will be devoured by my iTunes. Probably not, judging by the immense amount of music Angie has on her iTunes, but still. My life will be devoured by iTunes. Oh, dear.

    Hello, all. It's Early-Morning Cate. I'm sure you all are frightened.

    I am downloading iTunes at the moment. I want to start loading music onto it in advance for when I buy my pretty iPod. (Feel free to donate to Cate's iPod fund, by the way, she has less than eighty dollars left to earn!) It takes quite a lot of time to download.

    Hm. I promise this is my last entry about Renee Zellweger being such a fart-baron (I hate myself for giving up swearing; stupid Lent): Holly Hunter did a Nice Thing and threw a luncheon for all her fellow nominees, or at least the three of them (other than herself) that showed up. I don't think it is necessary to say who didn't show.

    (Cate likes parentheses this morning. And speaking in the third person, like Bob Dole.)


    Okay. Now I've found something funny.

    Angie is laughing her skinny little butt off at this as she reads it, I assure you. (Our grandfather seems to think we have some black Japanese mafioso blood in us somewhere. Don't ask me, he doesn't even talk to me.) Yes, I am a power-hungry mafioso, I am Don Corleone. Absolutely.

    The Dr. Melfi side of me is saying, "Catherine, why are you telling me this?"

    Okay. The blog revamp which ended up amounting to a whole lot of nothing is officially over. I will not be updating my template again unless it is to change my reading/listening to/visiting section or to add a new link. I promise.

    I don't have anything funny to say. Being a computer-illiterate fool has sucked all the life and sarcasm out of me. What has become of my life? Oh, jeebus.

    If I really, really wanted to, I could say I was posting this at three in the morning, on Christmas of 1999. Thankfully for you, I am nicer than that most of the time. I don't have any energy left to be mean.

    Okay, never mind. I changed my format back. I didn't like that one. It was a bit too gothic for my snarky blog and everything seemed so much less funny. I'm working on getting the tagboard back, I promise.

    Oh, dear. I'm babysitting the Fake Sick.
    FS: I'm hungry for a Snickers Chruncher!
    Me: Well, we don't have any. So find something else to eat, bucko.
    Me: If you are so hungry, eat something healthy!
    Me: Then find some other unhealthy thing to eat.

    Allrighty then.

    Okay, I officially changed my blog template. I hope you all like it. I now have a tagboard, commenting, guess a number, a calendar, blah, blah, blah. I'm not too fond of the actual format, but I love all the extra stuff I've accumulated from this change, so you people can just get used to it while you play guess Cate's friggin' number. I'm still trying to figure out how to change that "simple.blue" thing at the top, but whatever. Guess my friggin' number while I wait to fix it, y'all.

    And I accidentally lost all your comments. I'm so sad. I wanted to print out Mariana's comment from today about being related to Larry the Muslim and visiting my blog daily. Oh, dear.

    The sad part is, all this took me about three hours today. And I'm still mad that I finally get to watch the Ellen DeGeneres Show for the first time since Christmas break, and Gwyneth Paltry is on. Argh.

    Okay, y'all may have noticed that I've been changing the blog a lot. (Note: the tag board posts go from most recent to least recent. Like the blog entries.) I'm trying to find a really nice, imageless, not overly bright template for it on Blogskins.com but I'm having very little luck, as Mariana knows. If anyone who reads this ever succeeds in finding a nice template that doesn't concern gaudy images of Japanese boy bands that are not all that attractive, tell me. Please. I am losing my demented little brain.

    Oh, dear. These Blogskins people really need to be convinced to not use images, my gods.

    Top 5 Reasons My Blog Is Special

    After reading many other blogs and enjoying approximately three of them, I've compiled a list of the reasons my blog is special, hence the title.

    1. The title is not from the lyrics of some dumb "cool" rock song. Instead, it is from Howard's End. This shouldn't worry you as much as it does. I suppose it could be from a rock song when Mariana and Betty and I get together and make our band, Dental Tart.
    2. I figured out to make links and have an Unkymood in my sidebar. Everyone who knows me knows this is quite a feat, as I am a computer-illiterate fool.
    3. It's orange. And cute. And witty.
    4. Everyone's names are fake to protect their deranged little identities.
    5. Random visits from Princess Di. No, not the real one. If you want a visit from her, turn on the Today show every morning.

    Thank gods for half-days. Although we're all rather hyper on our half-days and act quite weird. Today, um, Larry was pretending to be a Muslim person and randomly getting on his knees, making his sweatshirt a turban, and shouting "ALLAH!!"

    Now you understand the bit in number 4 about protecting identities.


    Okay. The promised, much-anticipated quiz results. I cheated on one so I could get Say Anything..., but here are my actual, non-cheating results and my actual, non-cheating responses:

    You are Woodstock!

    Which Peanuts Character are You?
    brought to you by Quizilla

    Oh, yay! I *heart* Woodstock. (I have Suzanne Vega's "Marlene on the Wall" stuck in my head right now, which is lovely and wonderful and beautiful.)

    Ballet Shoes
    Ballet shoes- beautiful, graceful, and creative,
    you enjoy dancing writing and music. You are
    often very poetic and sometimes dramatic. You
    keep to yourself aside from a few close friends
    that you can relate to. [please vote! thank
    you! :)]

    What Kind of Shoe Are You?
    brought to you by Quizilla

    I wanted to be red stilletos. I think red stilletos are truly a footwear extention of my persona. And I think the only part this guy got right was "creative." I am not graceful and I highly doubt I am beautiful, but feel free to post a comment disagreeing with this.

    I just took a very strange quiz where I ended up being Yoshi but there was no picture so I didn't bother posting it.

    You're chocolate. You're the old soul type, people
    feel that they have known you their entire
    life. Many often open up to you for they view
    you as thoughtful and trustworthy. Although
    people trust you, you have a hard time trusting
    them. You prefer to keep your feelings bottled
    up inside, or display them very quietly. It is
    alright to open up every once in a while.

    Which kind of candy are you?
    brought to you by Quizilla

    Okay. Whatever. I like chocolate. I promise the next two quizzes are my last.

    I hate you so bad
    you are the "I hate you so bad" happy
    bunny. You hate everyone and eveything and your
    not ashamed of it.

    which happy bunny are you?
    brought to you by Quizilla

    I didn't really care what answer I got, 'cuz I love Happy Bunny, oh, yes, I do.

    Never mind. The last quiz hasn't got any pictures.

    "Adam is a hobo from Junction City." --My good friend Franny B. after sniffing Sharpies in language arts class a few days ago.

    My mom made me walk two miles home from school yesterday. Yes, I am capable of walking two miles. I did it in fifteen minutes, in fact. What happened was is that my mom didn't tell me I was walking home until I was in the car, so I had very bad shoes on for walking, so now my feet are blistered all over and I have a monstrously pulled muscle. So now my feet are all Ace-bandaged, which should not me as amusing as it really is.

    I am a bit worried that Dr. Melfi and Tony might get together on
    The Sopranos. I know this is an irrational worry, but Dr. M better say no. She's the hero of the side of me that wants to be a shrink. And that side of me would absolutely say no to Tony. If she says yes, that side of me could very well die. Oh, my. What will happen without my analytical shrink side, the side that has currently been working very hard to self-actualise and not get library fines and whatnot. I will be dominated entirely by my forgetful, snarky screenwriter self.

    (Oh, dear. Speaking of library fines, the collection agency letter for my latest fines came. Apparently this goes on my mom's credit report because she's in charge of me, but she's happy that I took care of it so she won't tell my dad until I've gone to college and whatnot. My mom rocks my face off.)

    Random Quotes of Catherine's Life, Part Two

    Franny B.: Adam is a hobo from Junction City. (Please note: Miss Franny B. had been sniffing Sharpies in grammar class when she came up with this.)

    Mariana: I swear I told you that. Or maybe I just dreamt that.

    Mariana's Mutti (speaking of our graduation; I'm paraphrasing): You're all gonna dress up in gunny sacks and sandals and put your hair in ponytails so you look like Jesus. Then, afterwards, we're gonna sit in someone's garage and listen to the Christian rock station.

    Me: The lateness of my hour is due not therefore to the dance but to the waiting in line for a horseless carriage of unquestionable size.
    Princess Di: I have no idea what you're talking about.
    Me: And neither do I.

    Catherine's Daily Morning Visit to the IMDb

    -Take the poll. Laugh at the sentence "Jim Carrey's stunningly unfunny Blake Edwards intro," because apparently Jim Carrey is considered funny in other people's words and it should be a surprise Blake Edwards, who wrote some of the only old movies I like, upstaged him.

    -Read the gossip column, whatever it's called. Janet Jackson. Meh. Steven Seagal. Meh. Oh, I'm still sad that Spalding Gray is missing. Really. And his wife seems like such a nice sad person to commiserate with. Aw. Meh, Sylvester Stallone wants another baby; I don't think he deserves one after naming his daughter Sistine (although he has a daughter named Scarlett, which my mom probably would have named me had I been a redhead.) Ben Affleck, Christian Slater, Kate Winslet, Alec Baldwin, Elton John, Jessica Simpson, all MEH. If it hadn't been for Spalding Gray and his sad wife, Kathleen Russo, that all would have been completely for naught.


    Took a quiz today. I used to take quizzes all the time, and I've gotten Hallie quite addicted, but I stopped for a while. But I discovered this career test that is *gasp* actually quite accurate.

    Extroverted (E) 71.05% Introverted (I) 28.95%
    Imaginative (N) 62.5% Realistic (S) 37.5%
    Emotional (F) 59.38% Intellectual (T) 40.63%
    Easygoing (P) 73.53% Organized (J) 26.47%
    Your type is: ENFP
    You are an Inspirer, possible professions include - conference planner, speech pathologist, HR development trainer, ombudsman, clergy, journalist, newscaster, career counselor, housing director, character actor, marketing consultant, musician/composer, artist, information-graphics designer, human resource manager, merchandise planner, advertising account manager, dietitian/nutritionist, speech pathologist, massage therapist, editor/art director.
    Take Free Career Inventory Personality Test.

    Um, I must say there are careers I would actually consider if I was not so stubborn about becoming a screenwriter, *gasp* again: journalist, character actor, artist (I suppose screenwriting is an art and therefore I can justly be considered an artist), art director. And it got my whole disorganized, extroverted, more-emotional-than-intellectual-but-still-pretty-balanced, imaginitive self right. But that might be because there were questions like "Are you weird?" and "Do you talk a lot?" Well, obviously. I suppose if you like quizzes that are painfully obvious and don't tell you anything you don't already know, this is the quiz for you.

    I'm off to take some quizzes on quizilla.com, I will inform you of the results a bit later, perhaps tomorrow.

    Okay, one more gripe about Squinty winning, brought up by Hallie and Angie: her clip blew. (I'm pirating from Angie and I on the phone here, but:) "MY PAW SHOT THAT ALLIGATOR!" "AND THEN HE STOOD OUT IN THE RAIN AND SAID 'IT'S RAININ' BUT THEY MADE THE WEATHER AND THEY SHOT THE ALLIGATORS!" (After the whole line about they stand out the rain and say it's raining in the real clip, my crazy mutti said, "No, really? I thought they would say it's snowing.")

    I am writing an email to Betty Who Is Meanly on Vacation. I know you all missed me writing in my blog during newspaper, but I had to yell at our newly-recruited problem child because no one was supervising us.

    I'm paraphraising, and badly at that, but I'd like to share with y'all this conversation between two guys in my class during math, when we were in the library doing our homework:
    Dan: Problem 20 is hard.
    Matt: No, it's not! It's easy, like your mom!
    (Mariana and I tell Matt how horrible and stupid and disgusting he is.)
    Dan: Problem 22 is hard, too.
    Matt: No, it's not. It's easy. You just gotta work it.

    Oh, jeebus. Mrs. Egghead just called. Stupid fartbaron, that woman.


    Just finished watching Gilmore Girls in the first time in forever. I must say, I loved DrunkEmily. So I am now reading last week's West Wing recap on Television Without Pity, another show I have not watched in forever. (But I hear that Princess Di has the first season on DVD, that little beenerschnieve. I'm "jellos.") Not that those two things have anything to do with each other except, you know, television.

    Dear People Who Can't Solve Their Own Problems,
    Don't ask me what to do about it. If I wanted to answer your questions, I would ask if you had any. And don't even bother trying to ask if it's something I have no control over.

    Angie, I thought you would enjoy this bit:
    Me: Oh my gosh. This magazine has obituaries in the back. I hate obituaries. Do you know anyone who does like them?
    (Long pause.)
    Mom: Your grandfather.

    I'm writing in language arts class. I had to type up my persuasive essay and whatnot. It's about the screener ban and can properly be titled An Angry Letter To Mr. Jack Valenti, The Fartbaron Killing Independent Films. But, obviously, it's not titled that. Instead it's called Screener Ban: I Need A Better Title.

    I'm sure everyone that reads my blog is amazed, after reading this, that I actually thought of a title as good as Love is Nothing. Oh, jeebus.


    My father was very upset with my mother and I for making him watch part of the Oscars. So he made us watch the the semi-retarded CNN Pre-Show and then made fun of everyone and mixed up their names. So, anyway, this is Catherine's Family and Their Stupid Oscar Dialogue.

    Me: Oh, ew. Tim Robbins just blew his nose. Thanks, CNN.
    Dad: Well, Cate, what do you think happens when he snorts cocaine all afternoon?

    [This is a good time to mention that my dad assumes everyone at awards shows is some kind of pothead/cokehead.]

    Mom: Oh, my gosh. Uma Thurman got attacked by lederhosen. Or Maria from The Sound of Music.

    And so on and so forth. But then my mom/mutti/madre and I vetoed all talking for the rest of the night, except when the stupid guy on the ABC pre-show said "competish" and she shouted, "GO READ A DICTIONARY, YOU FOOL!" I did not bother to remind her that she said roughly the same thing to me when I was in third grade because I interrupted her soaps-- by which I mean Court TV, wanting to go to the library.

    But even with the snark, the Oscars were still fracking boring.

    Well, those were the most boring, predictable Oscars ever. Jeebus! Lord of the Rings everything, Charlize Theron, Sean Penn, Tim Robbins, Squinty... blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. I think all this dullness is quite possibly a result of the Oscars being pushed forward a month. There is no space for an upset, people just vote for the obvious winner in the two weeks or whatever they have to vote.

    Did anyone else notice that our dear Patricia Clarkson had randomly disappeared from her seat behind Julie Andrews for quite a long time? Then again, who can blame her, getting beat by a bad Ma Cratchett impression and whatnot. And I hate it when the people in the front row don't win and aren't presenting anything. I'm sure that all those poor front row non-winners non-presenters feel awful.

    And is it sad that I still love John Cusack for Say Anything? I think it may be.